Idylwild,
Struan,
March, 1936
John,
It was a long night, but a successful one. We welcomed two lasses, practically holding hands. Small, as twins are, but not blue. I couldn't have stood that again, I can tell you. Nan and Jerry are delighted, and the girls who pin hopes in stitches over a joke or a prophesy about Nan's children always coming in twos.
They are Beatrice and Harriet. Beatrice for Shakespeare's (Nan says best) heroine. Harriet, as Nan once threatened, after the remarkable and writerly Harriet Vane, right down to Deborah for a middle name.
Mandy adores them. She likes to sit beside their baskets and sketch them. The Challow boy sits with them and watches Mandy. You had him dead to rights. Miri isn't around – well, not much. She's off with Allison Janie, and Anne says after wanting her to have her own friends (not Mandy) I'm not allowed to object.
You're wrong about Mandy not noticing the hapless Mick, though. Mandy's like one of my mother's cats. Positively choosey about her people. The fact she lets this Mick person hang about is evidence he's not going anywhere soon. I'd bet on how long it takes him to make headway, but Susan would scold me for impugning your ministerial reputation.
See you soon. I'll bring pictures.
Love and blessings,
Gil
Ingleside,
Glen St. Mary,
April, 1936
Jo,
We returned to a dustier Ingleside than we left. Miss Abby tries, but she isn't a patch on Susan (worn-out and dizzy lately) or Di (unable to stand continuously). Nor should she have to be. That didn't stop her being profusely happy to have us back. She got me in a bear-hug before my coat was fully off and shrieked, 'You did come back' into my left ear. It's still ringing.
Dulce was as bad. I made the terrible error of bending to scratch her ears and was buried alive in canine ecstasies of homecoming.
Eventually, Di freed me, only to take me hostage herself. She wanted a full report on her nieces. She wanted to travel with us, but based on John's descriptions of Struan, I didn't think her crutches would avail much out there. I was right. Even now, there's too much snow.
What I really want to know is how you are. I know the young Arnolds are still in Kingsport. I hope that's a comfort. So, going where angels fear (in the great tradition of friendship with Phil), how are you? You don't have to answer. Or you can answer vis-à-vis a more general you. People talk about how grief gets easier, and still others divide it into before and after. I have never, personally, experienced the after, only a since. After implies a break in experience that I never felt. There is, in fact, disturbing continuity adhering to my dead. From the way John occasionally remembers Cecilia, I don't think I have a monopoly there. If you find yourself merely existing, rather than living in the since, rest assured that's normal. I've been there, too.
Love ever,
Gil
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
April, 193
Gil,
Existing is as good a descriptor as any. It's spring, and I still can't believe Phil's dead. I can't believe it's spring, because Phil is dead. Surely you can't have one without the other?
I took the grandchildren rambling the other day, and was astonished when our ramble drew us abreast of Patty's Place. Memories of Friday Nights, the dances we went out to – even of the mauling my hands used to take at the hands of the Rusty-cat – were thicker than ever out there. I made the mistake of looking up, and spotted Phil's funny bedroom behind the kitchen immediately. I suppose I should be heartened that Patty's Place is unchanged, and obviously in the hands of a kindred spirit. Anne will be, so tell her for me. All I felt was an awful gnawing need to slip backwards in time. Then Evie coiled her arms around me, and I wondered how I could ever wish for a time that didn't include her and the other grandchildren. How Phil and I laughed over their metaphorical scrapes and kissed the literal ones. Jake's Andrew tugged at my hand to get me moving again, and asked why the house was so important. He thought houses were just houses. Joanie told him with an imperiousness that Phil would have been proud of that only city people thought that. Sensing an explosion was imminent, I intervened with a story.
It was good to remember How Rusty Was Not Chloroformed, and even Phil's indecision over Alec and Alonzo. The look on Evie's face at the notion her grandmother had other suitors! Before, it would have made me laugh. Since – now – I'm reminded of how all-encompassing Phil's love was. I wonder if anyone told Alec and Alonzo she died. I wonder if they'd care? I bet they would.
The children are heading home soon. That's as it should be. They have lives and work to resume. At least Sam and family will be nearby. There's so much of Phil in him it hurts; Her mathematical mind, her wit, her playfulness. I'm suddenly, selfishly glad that Sam's job relocated him to Kingsport.
Give my congratulations to your Wandering Merediths. I was remiss in not commenting earlier. Forgive me. Phil would be horrified. If you have pictures spare, send us me some. There's quite a few of us here who are interested of knowing how much likeness there is between this new set of twins and their predecessors.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St Mary,
May, 1936
Jo,
Naomi and family got home safe. When I visited this afternoon and the Cricket Club was in voluble session. Dulce was with them, gnawing leisurely on a birch log, while Snowy eyed her dubiously from the lap of one of the Morris boys. I missed your daughter, but spent a pleasant quarter-hour with Fred Arnold.
The big news here is that Ken Ford is taking his family to some Yankee resort this summer. Lake Devine or something. Susan refuses to believe it. She says it's bad enough that Ken whisked baby Rilla and Little Kitchener off to Toronto the way he did, and only Providence that has saved them all from an early demise living in That Awful Place. But to summer abroad – Susan is speechless. She holds court primarily from her kitchen room, whence Gil has forcibly confined her after an especially bad attack. Gil doesn't think she can take many more of these attacks, and worries what it will do to Abby. Susan's such a mainstay of Ingleside life.
Love and blessings always,
J.M.